Sarah shivered as the cold, late January air whipped past her. She would have preferred the meeting to happen somewhere indoors, with a hot drink. Some neutral ground like the Stove.

But the Stove was closed down, and she understood the scepticism towards her concerning this meeting. She was the one with the great amount of resources, the greater possible danger, the one much more likely to set a trap. And so they would shiver while talking.

The sun hadn’t fully set yet. An edge of pale yellow clung to the outlines of the city scape, but it was quickly bleeding out of the darker blue as night overtook the sky.

It wasn’t all that cold, really. But the sharp wind that had been cutting through the city for a few days now beat the air harshly against her skin.

A young man in a winter coat brushed past her, and Sarah caught a glimpse of serious eyes below drawn brows. She waited for a few seconds, then followed him down the street.

Alexander led her around several turns before finally slowing down and allowing her to catch up without having to break into a jog. They were at a crossways of alleys, a minute away from the larger streets, the traffic and crowds. He turned slightly towards her and kept walking at a leisurely pace, further into the knots of alleys.

‘You wanted to meet?’, he said quietly.

‘I did. And thank you for coming, Alex.’

He scowled. ‘It’s Lilly.’ Then, reluctantly, he added, ‘Please.’

Sarah shrugged. He was more forthcoming than during their last meeting, so she could meet him halfway and use a nickname. ‘All right, Lilly. I have some questions, and I think you might be interested in the information I have to offer in exchange for your answers.’

He seemed to consider, then nodded. His eyes didn’t stay on her, but kept moving around, checking for shadows that weren’t supposed to be there, figures that lingered too long, ears that came too close for comfort. Not many people passed them by, and he paid those who did all the more attention.

Sarah took it as he cue to go ahead, and asked her first question. ‘Do you know who Daniel Brooks really is?’

A sharp glance that told her all she needed to know, and he was watching their surroundings again. ‘Perhaps.’

She almost snorted, but kept her expression neutral. Cryptic half-answers it was. But she could tell enough from that. ‘I think he’s connected to what happened to Yoshua Stone.’

That made him pause for a moment, but the statement didn’t really surprise him, either. Sarah found it eerie how easy he was to read, at least to her. It hadn’t really been a question, so she didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she wanted to find out if she could catch him in a lie.

‘Do you know if he is still active?’

She already knew that one. Whatever Daniel had done before, he was retired. He was part of Ryan Silas’ police force, for good, that much she was sure of. The question was, did Alexander – Lilly know, and would he tell her.

‘The name Dan Shio does keep popping up,’ he answered finally, voice carefully neutral.

Not a lie, but not a real answer, either. It told Sarah nothing she didn’t already know about the young man beside her. Maybe he was not as easy a mark as she had thought.

‘Yes, it does,’ she responded. ‘But which side is he on? Someone is doing experiments on people. I would very much like to know why, and how. I think you might be able to help with that.’

He took a deep breath, halfway between a sigh and a groan. He seemed to be fighting himself, undecided on how much to tell her of what he knew. And he did know something, that much was obvious.

Sarah wondered whether she would have to threaten him. Agency security had been breached a few days ago, and they had a location. No damage had been done, but Alexander – Lilly - was a highly likely suspect. Sarah had been given leeway to use that information however she saw fit. After all, it was involved with her casework.

Telling Lilly that she knew where he lived was a good enough threat. Did she want to blow it just yet?

‘What do you know about simulated personalities?’, he said after a long pause.

No threats necessary after all. Though the answer was confusing at best. Simulated what? Sarah kept her face blank as she mulled it over. She had heard something some time ago, about recreating personality traits. But she couldn’t place it and it had been scientific speculation to the point of fiction. Dreams of the future, nothing more.

‘I’m no expert,’ she said, keeping to half-answers herself.

Lilly scoffed. ‘You might want to look it up, then.’

He looked directly at her, and she knew then that she wasn’t fooling him. Those sharp eyes bore into hers, straight through her mask. She tried hard not to let it show on her face how much that surprised her. He had come a long way from the boy she had talked to years ago about hacking government servers.

‘My turn to ask,’ he said, coming to a halt. ‘Where is Michael Runner right now?’

She had been prepared for the questions. It seemed Hounds were after Runner, just as everyone else. She wondered if they knew what they were chasing. ‘At a secure location.’

Lilly held her eyes for a few more seconds, searching for something, then he looked away and shook his head. ‘You don’t know. Shit. I figured. Thank you for your time.’

He performed a mock bow and strode off down an alley, further into the bowels of the city.

‘Wait, Alexander!’, Sarah called. She didn’t follow after him, though. He would shake her off eventually, he had been prepared to bolt the whole time. Attempting a pursuit would only antagonise him further.

‘Good night, Pike,’ Lilly called over his shoulder, and then, a few seconds later, the dim evening shadows had swallowed him up.

The crust of ice broke with a crunch and Orion’s foot sank an inch deep into the puddle underneath. He cursed and kept walking, trying to ignore the squelch his shoe sole made with every other step.

Jordan had been surprisingly forthcoming in their conversation. He’d given their forged data a cursory once-over and said he’d take care of everything, no problem. Anna had done an excellent job, and Orion wasn’t sure if it had been necessary with that light of an examination. Then again, maybe the first glance had been good enough to deter Jordan from prying further, and then Anna’s work had just the right shine of legitimacy to it. In any way, Orion was glad to have commissioned her for the job.

Still, something about Jordan was off. When Orion had asked about the scrambler for Lilly, Jordan had simply grinned and said they’d visit a contact to make arrangements. So far so good, but that was awfully cooperative behaviour. Didn’t quite feel right.

They were on their way to the promised contact now, Jordan leading him to a place that seemed caught halfway between a bar and a night club. The doors were painted black and gold, and the facade was covered in fake stucco to make the building seem two hundred years older than it probably was. Orion couldn’t decide whether the getup was a genuine attempt at elegance or a mockery.

Jordan opened the door for him and they stepped from pale winter day light into the dim of the club. There were only a few patrons inside this time of day. The strip cages to either side of the entrance were empty, and there was a single bartender working at a long mahogany counter.

A few pairs of eyes swept up at them, then swivelled away again.

After a quick look around, Jordan’s eyes found a table near the centre of the room and he made straight for it. The lone man sitting there had his greying hair bound up in a ponytail and was wearing what looked like a very expensive suit.

‘What can I do you for, Ten?’, he greeted Jordan with a relaxed grin.

‘I’m fine, Terrance, you?’

Terrance answered with a grunt.

‘Great. I need a grade three scrambler for my acquaintance. Terrance, this is Orion. Orion, Terrance. Do get along. You’ll be doing business again in the future.’

Terrance shot a quick glance in Orion’s direction, grunted again, then took a sip of his drink. Orion tried hard not to let his clenched jaw show.

‘Gimme two days. I’ll contact you, Ten. Cash up front.’

Jordan threw him a roll of bills without asking a price and Terrance pocketed it without counting.

‘Pleasure doing business, lads.’

‘See ya, Terrance.’

And that seemed to be the end of the conversation. Jordan led him towards a bar and picked up a waiting shot glass, downing it in one go.

‘Hey Felix!’

The bartender turned to look over.

‘Can I freshen up?’

‘Go right ahead.’

Jordan grinned and set the glass down on the counter, upside down. ‘Okay, Orion. Don’t care what you do next. I’m off. Have fun.’

‘Wait, that’s it?’ The whole thing had been quick and confusing and didn’t really fit into the category of “introduction” by Orion’s standards. He hadn’t spoken a single word, and he was still waiting for something more. Now that it seemed that that something wasn’t going to happen, he felt foolish and a bit disappointed.

‘Yup.’ Jordan stretched and wandered off along the counter, passing through a door by the end. It had a sign on it spelling out “Employees only” in black on white. That made it clear that Orion was on his own, at least.

He stood lost for a second. He’d walked in here less than five minutes ago, he had no idea how to behave, and he was alone. Great. Should he just leave and go back to the apartment? Did Jordan expect him to wait around? He’d said he didn’t care what Orion did. So… leave? It was not like this was a familiar place, and Orion didn’t fit in.

This is what it must feel like to be a civilian in the Stove.

He was standing in an unfamiliar room, with everyone else at least slightly at ease, knowing each other from sight, a feeling of exclusiveness in contacts. Orion had these connections, too but in a different area. It was territorial, maybe, but he was a stranger here, nobody knew anything about him, and he stood out like a sore thumb.

Years ago, coming in with Jordan would have granted him some leniency. He would have had a kind of status that helped the others place him. This was a place that Numbers seemed to frequent, people in Max Rivers’ employ who had been part of the program. Like Jordan, who had been the tenth child to come in. That was his name here, and the other patrons knew how to react to it.

But Jordan had been careful with his introductions. He had put him as Orion, his own chosen name, not as Sixty-two. Orion was no longer a Number, so he wouldn’t get that status. The choice of words also made him harder to place. Was he a thief? Killer? Smuggler?

If Orion wanted to build up contacts here, and he had to, for better or for worse, he would have to do the introductions himself. Without stepping on any toes. Wonderful. He was starting to suspect that had been deliberate on Jordan’s part.

After a few seconds of standing around helplessly and trying to decide, Orion chose to suck it up. He really wished his distanced mindset would come up again and make it easier to deal with this. Being more like Sixty-two might be a good thing right about now.

It was surprisingly, terrifyingly easy. Telling himself he was cold, drawing that blanket of indifference down around his shoulders.

He walked over to Terrance and sat on the empty stool beside him. Might as well get some shopping done. Terrance raised an eyebrow at him.

‘What else you got besides scramblers?’, Orion asked.

Terrance squinted at him, and shrugged.

‘Lots. What’re you looking for?’

It seemed to work. He was being regarded differently than he had been just two minutes ago. And Orion felt himself reacting differently, indignation rising at the raised eyebrow and squint. He should be respected.

Careful. Don’t lose yourself in it.

‘Steel-silk and Bracer components would be a good start.’

‘You wanna build a Hook? I can just sell you one. Customisable, too.’

Orion shook his head. He didn’t want a simple zip-line. His Hook was going to be a bit more unique. ‘I have something different in mind. Special requirements. You can’t buy what I’m building.’

Terrance squinted at him again, this time in interest. ‘You’ll get the parts for free if you share the blueprints.’

Orion smiled coldly. ‘No.’

A rueful sigh. ‘We’ll see. I figure you don’t want regular Bracer parts, either?’

‘Concrete bonder, titanium pulley.’

‘What degree of steel alloy do you want?’

‘Pure titanium.’

Terrance whistled. ‘It’s not your average Bracer, all right.’

‘Can you get me the parts?’

‘Let me see what I can do. I’ll have a selection ready when the scrambler is here.’

‘Pleasure doing business, Terrance.’

He extended a hand, and the older man grinned and shook it.

‘Same. I rarely get customers who know their way around-’

Shots interrupted them.

Orion dropped immediately, low to the ground. He caught sight of Terrance doing the same next to him, crouching close to the table.

Silence. Nobody seemed to dare moving. The curtains covering the entrance had parted and a sheet of daylight fell inside through the gap. Most of dust danced into view in the ray of bright, drifting around like confused fireflies. Everything seemed alright. No evidence that anything was wrong.

That changed a second later. Muffled shouts from outside. More gunfire.

The doors crashed open, cracked with the force of the shove. And then everything was chaos. Patrons pulled weapons, wood splintered, people shouted and screamed.

Orion cursed and launched himself over to the bar counter, to the door Jordan had disappeared through. He ducked as bullets hit the wood, taking down bottles in a shower of glass and alcohol.

He kicked open the back door and crawled through. The room beyond was small and cramped, with shelves of small glass bottles, cabinets, and a couch squeezed into one corner. Orion hastily closed the door, still on his knees.

Jordan was sprawled on the couch, an empty syringe in one hand. His eyes were half-lidded and unfocused and he was grinning at nothing.

‘Gods damn it, Jordan,’ Orion hissed.

‘Heeey,’ came the slurred reply. ‘Want some?’

‘No, damn you, there’s a shootout going on outside!’

‘Nu-uh. There’s lookouts. And guards. And machine guns.’ He chuckled.

Orion grit his teeth. ‘The lookouts are dead.’

Jordan blinked at him a few times, then cursed sluggishly and scrambled to his feet. For a moment, it looked like he would trip and fall, but he caught himself and staggered towards the shelves, rooting through the bottles in search of something. He cursed.

‘Felix! Where’s your Suxing?’

A muffled reply.

Jordan grunted and turned to a cabinet, oblivious or uncaring of the shot and shouts and shattering wood outside.

Orion flinched as a bullet hit the door. This was not going well. ‘Fuck Jordan, what are you doing?’

Just his luck to be in a raid with a trained killer – who happened to be high as a kite.

Jordan turned and gripped Orion by the shoulders. His pupils were blown wide.

‘I find some Suxing in the next two minutes, or we die.’

His voice was surprisingly serious, matter-of-fact. Then he grinned, patted Orion’s cheek, and went back to his search.

Shit. In a raid with a killer who was high as a kite and looking for more drugs. Fantastic.

What were the odds of taking his chances outside and surviving? He could try and crawl away. Find a back exit. There must be some emergency getaway door. He sure as hell didn’t have any chances with Jordan. The man was out of it.

Something scratched at his awareness. Jordan had asked the bartender for Suxing.

It was half of a pair of drugs produced somewhere in central Asia, “shuizhe” and “suxing” roughly translating to “asleep” and “awake”. The first was a kind of sedative, the second a stimulator not unlike Speed.

The combination of both at once made the drugs popular with hit-men especially, and fighters in general; dampen your emotions and fear, heighten your concentration and perceived energy.

What else did Jordan take it for? Why just the one, just the sedative? He’d looked like he’d taken the sedative, at least. Uncaring. Relaxed. Only half-heartedly reacting to the situation, rummaging around, looking for a way to shape up for a fight. Orion hoped he would succeed in time.

‘Ah-hah!’

Jordan triumphantly held up a bottle, rattling the contents inside. He squinted at the label. ‘Eh, should get me halfway going.’

Dosage, right. It was easy and often fatal to OD. Your body might completely shut down, or the strain on your heart might be too much. “Halfway going” would have to be enough for now.

Jordan broke open a pill and shook the contents into his nostril, sniffing loudly. He coughed. Sniffed again. ‘Bah, I hate that. Takes effect sooner, though.’

The door splintered behind them. Orion crouched lower and turned. A bullet had pierced the wood at eye level. It was bright on the other side.

There it was, the evidence. Meddling with Max Rivers never ended well. For example, it ended in the middle of a shootout without weapons or even knowing what in the hells was going on. Orion wondered if he would get the chance not to make the same mistake again, or if this would be the end.

A hand settled on his shoulder, pulling him back.

‘All right, pal. I’m going out there to knock some heads together. Get out the back or something. You’ll probably make it. I’ll contact you when something comes up.’

And Jordan walked out into chaos.

A crash and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor pulled Daniel from his thoughts. He looked up from his dinner, fork halfway to his mouth. The sounds were coming from the bathroom. He listened.

A grunt. Shuffling. Another low thump.

Silence.

A different sound, smaller, quieter. Rustling, then something clattering on tile.

Daniel put down his fork and carefully pushed his chair back, lifting the legs to avoid scratching against the ground. No need to give himself away just yet. A second later, his gun was in his grip and he was tiptoeing down the hall.

Someone was in his bathroom. He could hear panting through the door, and not much else. He readied his gun and pushed open the door, taking aim.

Jordan was slumped on the ground, against the wall across from the door, next to the tub. The window above him was open, the shower curtain lay in a heap over the sink. Streaks of dirt told of a climb through the window, a fall into the tub, and a difficult climb back out of it. Jordan was clutching at the side of his stomach with one hand. The other rested on the tub’s edge, holding a gun aimed at Daniel.

For a few seconds, all was silent save for the sounds of traffic drifting in through the window and Jordan’s heavy, open-mouthed panting. His mouth twitched into the semblance of a grin.

‘Nine. Thought I’d drop by.’ He lowered the gun and winced. ‘Shit.’

Daniel exhaled with quiet relief and holstered his own weapon. ‘What happened now?’

Jordan shifted, wincing again. ‘Just a bit of a shootout.’ His voice was strained, tired, exhausted. He grinned. ‘Didn’t think I’d come by again so soon, did you, Nine?’

‘I told you, it’s not Nine any more,’ Daniel said quietly. He wasn’t sure why he said it, it didn’t matter what Jordan called him. Still, he felt the urge to correct the younger man.

Jordan smiled, a sad, cruel thing. ‘Right. Daniel.’

Daniel scowled at the way he said the name, almost mockingly. Jordan’s smile widened a little and lost some of its cruelty. He shifted, grimaced, and settled into a different position, gun still loosely in his grip. Daniel regarded him closer. A dark stain was seeping from beneath Jordan’s hand. Definitely wounded. The dim light made it difficult to tell the colour of the stains on the walls, but Daniel realised it probably wasn’t dirt, but blood, that was smeared across the tile. It had been a very uncomfortable landing, then.

‘Actually,’ Jordan started suddenly, ‘the fact that you’re going by Daniel, good ol’ Dan, clears up a lot of things.’

Clears up? Had someone else found out about him? Had they connected Daniel’s last alias to his new identity? He really needed a new name.

‘Got any bandages?’

If Jordan wanted to do this himself, Daniel wasn’t going to stop him. He only ever got to work if he was asked to. The younger man was particular about people touching him at times, especially when he was injured.

Daniel opened a cabinet and tossed a package of gauze over towards the tub. Jordan tore it open with his teeth and worked the roll of fabric under his shirt, pressing it to the wound. Probably a bullet, judging from the circular tear in the fabric above. Jordan grimaced for a moment, then relaxed slightly. He was sweating.

‘How did you manage to get shot up this time?’, Daniel asked, crossing his arms.

Jordan snorted. ‘It doesn’t happen that often.’

‘Please. I did half the stitches on you.’

‘And I did half of yours. Your point?’

Daniel sighed. ‘I should take you to a hospital.’

It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it. The tentative relaxation bled from Jordan’s features and twisted into a scowl. ‘You won’t do shit.’ His breathing sped up and something not unlike a growl rose in his throat. ‘Why did I come here, anyway,’ he muttered, pushing himself up again.

‘Jordan.’ Daniel started towards him.

Suddenly, the gun was back up and pointed at him, and Jordan promptly slid back to the floor as his legs refused to support his weight. He cursed and flailed, fighting to keep the gun aimed in the general direction of Daniel.

‘There’s no way you’re going to get as far as two blocks without passing out, if that. Neither of us can treat that wound on our own. Just-’

‘Shut up!’ Jordan worked himself to his feet again, managing to remain upright this time.

Daniel tensed, but didn’t move. Steady now. He tried to keep his voice casual. ‘You’re still being followed, right? You wouldn’t be here otherwise. If you go now, they’ll pick you up like a stray kitten. I give you five minutes, personally.’

‘Don’t follow.’

Jordan set one foot on the edge of the tub and grabbed the windowsill. As he pulled himself up, his foot slipped. For a moment, he managed to hold his weight upright by his hand alone, but it was too slick with blood for him to keep his grip.

The hit-man half fell, half stumbled against the tub and crashed into it face first. One of his legs caught against the wall, sticking out over the side. He groaned.

Daniel sighed. ‘You’re not gonna keep still, are you.’

He grabbed the pack of zip ties he kept in a cabinet in the hallway, and swiftly secured Jordan’s left hand to the shower head’s slide bar.

The gun had fallen to the tiles next to the window, where Jordan had been sitting before. Simple make. Old model. Not Jordan’s weapon of choice. He had probably slipped it from one of his attackers.

‘Bastard,’ Jordan mumbled against the tub. It sounded like the second fall against the hard cold surface might have broken his nose.

‘Yeah, yeah. Love you, too. You can curse me later. Stay put for a moment, will you?’

His calm was a facade. Jordan and he had an unspoken agreement. They provided something of a safe space for one another in case of emergencies. Daniel would never have thought of taking advantage of an injury like this, just as Jordan would never have sold him out.

But, he was also reasonably sure that Jordan would rather be arrested at a hospital than shot in an alley.

When he had gotten over his momentary rise of guilt, Daniel dialled a number on his phone. Not an ambulance, but the station. The police would get involved anyway, and if Daniel didn’t report this, he would get in a lot of trouble.

He rolled Jordan onto his side to check his face, waiting for the line to connect. The nose was swollen and seeping blood. Daniel pulled up one eyelid. Widely dilated pupils, even with the overhead lights shining into them.

The dispatcher picked up on the other end of the call.

‘This is Brooks, ID number 5008, I got a gunshot wound plus minor injuries. Flight risk, aggressive behaviour, intoxication; symptoms of withdrawal likely to show within the next two hours.’

He knew what kind of drugs Jordan preferred, especially before a fight. From the way he looked, he hadn’t taken too much care with the dosage, and the come-down tended to be ugly in those cases.

‘I need an ambulance and two officers as back-up, at my home.’

He recited the address, just in case, and ended the call after confirmation from the dispatcher. Ryan Silas would be informed and give his go-ahead.

‘Bastard,’ Jordan repeated, voice softened by his fading awareness.

‘Stay awake.’ Daniel patted his cheek in a weak slap. ‘You’re still taking that Asian crap? You know it has long-term draw-backs. Such as, say, permanent brain damage.’

Jordan scoffed.

Daniel rolled him over to examine the gunshot wound in his side. The cloth and soaked gauze pulled at the injured area as he drew them back, but there was enough fresh blood that the skin didn’t tear.

Nice clean wound, like a picture example. Judging from the angle and the lack of an exit wound, the bullet was stuck somewhere inside. Possibly in an organ. This would require surgery.

With a sigh, Daniel covered the wound again and put enough pressure on it to reduce the bleeding.

‘You’re one big, fluffy ball of trouble, aren’t you?’